


You and I (We Are Set In Stone)

by TheAngryKimchi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Chubby Thor, Endgame Fix-It, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Loki saves the day, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pseudo-Incest, Temporary Character Death, depressed Thor, mention of alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: When Thanos killed him, Loki was watching from the sidelines. Crouched behind a great sheet of steel that had once been a door. He had made his breath as silent as he could, hand trembling with the power of his seidr that kept his clone from shattering under Thanos' hand.His heart bruised and tore at Thor's screams for him. But Loki had to make Thanos believe he'd gotten rid of him once and for all. Loki had something more important to protect. Thor would survive and Thor would go on and Loki had to make them all believe. He had to.
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 140





	1. Infinity War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnitaNeko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnitaNeko/gifts).



> Hi~  
> I've wanted to write this story for a while now and I found the opportunity and went over my hesitancy. I am a true clown for posting yet another chaptered fic when I have others I should be working οn, but I couldn't resist.  
> This will be done in three chapters (hopefully) and, like all my other fics, it's unbeta'd . 
> 
> -Gifting this to my little crazy cat who's always there for me to cry at and slap me back into writing when the doubts get to be too much. My sweet, I wouldn't have managed as much as I've done without you. Thank you for always being here💕
> 
> -Important (spoilery) note: for this story the Asgardians have already been traveling for a few months before Thanos attacked their ship, hence Loki's situation.
> 
> Buckle up for another angsty trip!

When Thanos killed him, Loki was watching from the sidelines. Crouched behind a great sheet of steel that had once been a door. He had made his breath as silent as he could, hand trembling with the power of his seidr that kept his clone from shattering under Thanos' hand. 

His heart bruised and tore at Thor's screams for him. But Loki had to make Thanos believe he'd gotten rid of him once and for all. Loki had something more important to protect. Thor would survive and Thor would go on and Loki had to make them all believe. He had to.

He grimaced at the sick crunch of his clone’s neck. Held back the bile rising to his mouth; held back from reaching out to Thor when he crumpled on the floor, as he crawled to Loki's seemingly dead form and cried for his lost lover.

And when the ship exploded, Loki extended his power to wrap protectively around his brother, kept him alive as they floated through space and lead him to the strange ship that, hours later, traveled through the wreckage and the bodies, searching for survivors or stuff to steal. 

Loki made sure Thor was safe in their care and then, with the last of his depleting power, he vanished, landed in Vanaheim where he begged Freya for her help. He could see it in her face the moment he dropped the glamour; she understood and she could feel them, too — these tiny sparks of life growing in his belly, safely tucked away from the danger lurking.

“Please,” he begged her, dirty with soot and blood, and Freya, bless her soul, ushered him inside her manor, bathed him and fed him. 

She didn’t ask about Thor. She didn’t ask about Asgard or how Loki ended up in her doorstep. She only asked him if he was okay, if _they_ were healthy and she smiled when Loki rubbed the small bump with care, when he smiled a soft _‘yes’._

It was strange having someone else knowing, asking after them, after all these months he had tried keeping their existence a secret while he tried to find a way to tell Thor first before anyone else.

Loki wasn’t regretting what he did; he needed to survive, he needed to protect them. Their lives were more important than the hurt his faked death would deal at Thor — than anything else. 

And Thor would understand. 

When he’d have won over Thanos and they’d be reunited. Thor’s anger would vanish when Loki would let him see, let him feel the reason he had to do what he’s done. And they’d be a family again. The four of them.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be so; Loki discovered this when he was woken up into the dead of night. 

Freya was screaming for Freyr down the hall. She was kneeling on the marbled floor when Loki reached their rooms, and she was grabbing onto handfuls of golden dust, crying out her lover’s name in-between wrecking sobs.

Loki halted in his way to her, hands flying to his bump when he felt the comforting weight inside him shifting. “No,” he muttered in terror, pushing seidr through his clutching palms. But when the nauseating feeling was over and tears were running down his face, there was only one tiny spark left.

Loki wailed then, crumbling on the floor. Heart breaking and never to be mended again.

He stayed slumped on the ground and cried for the world; cried for his brother — because if Thanos had succeeded then Thor had failed and the only way for Thor to fail was if he was already dead. 

Cursing Thanos’s name, Loki cried for his child, arms wrapped protectively around the now smaller bump. 


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the sound of a chubby robin tapping its tiny beak against his window that wakes him the next morning. He squints at the sound, eyes scouring the wall opposite him until they land on the bird. It chirps, the red on its chest bright in the sunlight and the child moves inside him, lays soft kicks against his belly button, liking the sound of the bird’s song. 
> 
> It makes Loki smile and tap his fingers on his taut skin, over the tiny feet in greeting.

The months passed slowly, like sand inside a clogged hourglass, grain after grain pushing its way through the tiny mouth. Loki was only half-living, crying himself to sleep most nights while pressing his palms on the sides of his growing belly. Grieving for his dead brother and the child he would never get to meet, the sibling his remaining baby would always be able to sense the absence of.

Eating became hard, a chore at best, sustaining himself harder still. He existed like a ghost would; pale and gaunt, floating on the in-between of reality and insanity. 

The robes around his body were wrapped tightly, protectively, as if by doing so he’d manage to keep them safe from the world and its cruelties. 

Loki stopped smiling, striking conversation or convoluting pranks in the expense of others. His usually overactive mind came to a sudden and numbing stop. He’d only talk to his spark of hope, his lifeline, and he spent endless nights stroking the taut skin of his stomach, embracing himself, voice low and emotional as he weaved stories for them, as he recounted memories of expeditions long past, of his and their father’s merry traipsing through the Nine Realms. Of a time when breathing was an easier task, when Loki’s only real problem was the all-powerful desire he had for his brother.

And Loki wept at the memories; at the images of Thor’s bright smile from their youth; of his soft confessions of affection during the last five months they got to spend together, tucked close to each other and watching the stars as they slowly passed by their bedroom’s window. The thought of Thor’s soft touches had sobs sneaking into his low whisperings. 

His heart still hurt and would do so for the rest of time, Loki was sure of that.

Oh, what a fool he’d been to hope for more than he already had. For a second chance.

* * *

Freya took him to Alfheim after a while, unable to continue living in a house so deeply soaked in happy memories of her and Freyr, and Loki — more than content to follow her, grateful for her company, for the strength of her will to keep him healthy even when she was also drowning in so much pain — followed her silently.

They got situated in a small but quaint cottage a few turns away from a village deep in Alfheim’s woods. It was peaceful — a little too much so — but they needed the peace and quiet, they needed this new start away from everything that bore sentiment more than they needed the servants and the luxury of past homes.

And they let the months pass by them in that numbing sort of limbo. 

Until they met her.

She was a petite thing, an elfin girl with curly fiery hair and an even fiercer personality. She had enough of wondering about the newcomers and decided she should come to introduce herself. 

Sigyn — such a beam of light Loki found both himself and Freya being pulled from the abyss of their grief without noticing it, like moths to a burning candle. But, in contrast to a dangerous candle, Sigyn proved to want anything else but to burn them in her flame.

It took all but a look of hers at his worn expression to decide she was keeping him. 

Loki was in his tenth month by then and she continuously fussed over him, over the size of his stomach. She didn’t make a single move to touch him, however, as if sensing his fear, as if knowing she’d be missing an arm if she ever did touch him without his consent. Slowly, she made herself an integral part of their lives, she started coaxing tiny soft smiles from his lips, pushed him to eat that little bit more, rest more and explore the surrounding woods more, gather useful herbs that helped ease his queasiness, the cramps and the swellings of his aching feet, helped bring back his appetite. 

“For the baby,” she would say, insisting for him to finish his meals, push him to eat a little more every day. 

Then she’d cry along with him when he told her of his most recent failure, of the hardships he and Thor had to go through this past decade, the regret and guilt eating at him from inside at having betrayed his love yet again.

After their first week together, when Sigyn made sure he and Freya meant them no harm, she started bringing her own gaggle of children along during her visits; subtly educating him on how to care for them and especially her little boy, a tiny toddler who could make Loki’s heart melt with a single look of his chocolate brown eyes, the gappy grin he gave Loki the first time he dared to hold him.

“You’re getting good at this,” Sigyn would say when Loki fed her son, making silly sounds with his mouth to keep the toddler’s attention, and Loki would feel his heart stuttering in pride for being good for this tiny angel, for helping her as she was helping him.

Loki blushed when Sigyn complimented him, kept his eyes on the fussing baby while his free hand stroked his swollen belly, anxious after so long to feel his child in his arms, to gaze upon them, kiss their cheek and tuck them in the crook of his neck.

Very often Loki wondered how they’d look, if they’d have the colour of his hair and eyes, the paleness of his complexion or if he’d be blessed enough to have them taking after their father. Would he feel his heart tearing anew whenever he’d look at them if they did look like Thor or would it be like watching flowers bloom, smelling their sweetness and marveling their beauty? 

By the time he was nearing his twelfth, and final, month of pregnancy, Loki was more than ready for the day he’d get to hold his little treasure in his arms. By that point, Sigyn had become someone Loki felt he could trust with his life .

* * *

Ironically enough, it’s Freya that shakes him from the last of this emotional hibernation he has succumbed into. It’s a night when the air outside howls and the trees whine under the storm’s strength — the booming thunder has him wrapping his arms around his unborn child a tad more tightly.

“Have you ever scryed for him, Loki? Did you ever sought out proof he’s truly gone?” She asks out of the blue, eyes dark and hard inside the shadows cast from the fireplace. She knows the answer even before Loki shakes his head.

“It’s the only way this could ever happen. Thor wouldn’t-” Loki’s voice gets stuck in his throat, refusing to finish the sentence even after all this time. “He wouldn’t let him get his way.”

Freya clicks her tongue, turns her eyes back to her book and resumes the rocking of her chair. The rhythmic creak of the wood lulls Loki into a strange sense of calm.

“I’ve thought you a lot of things as the centuries passed, dear nephew,” she says, turning a page, “an idiot was never one of them.”

It strikes a half-forgotten nerve inside Loki, makes him grind his teeth together, tighten his hands into fists atop the wooden tabletop. “Thor’s gone, like our baby is gone, too.” 

Freya’s gaze holds something tender in their blue skies when she looks at him. “Then you have nothing to lose.”

Loki gulps around the lump in his throat, holds back the tears blurring his sight. His voice is low when he speaks, all but a forlorn whisper.

“Oh, but I do.”

* * *

He doesn’t sleep much that night. Doubts and what-ifs keeping his mind awake, overworking around possibilities and faulty longings. And when he does fall asleep it’s so he’ll be mocked with images of an impossible future. 

It’s the sound of a chubby robin tapping its tiny beak against his window that wakes him the next morning. He squints at the sound, eyes scouring the wall opposite him until they land on the bird. It chirps, the red on its chest bright in the sunlight, and the child moves inside him, lays soft kicks against his belly button, liking the sound of the bird’s song. 

It makes Loki smile and tap his fingers on his taut skin, over the tiny feet in greeting. The baby gets more and more excited the longer the bird sings and, suddenly, Loki has had enough of this self-loathing, of this limbo he’s let himself get so comfortable in. 

He gets up without putting on his slippers; exits the room without making his bed like he has done for the past months. He enters the tiny kitchen in a hurry, searches through the cabinets until he finds what he needs. Then he pumps water from the faucet until the bowl is half full and he carefully takes it back to his bedroom, deposits it onto the little secreter he’s got there and, as suddenly as he was spurred into motion, Loki’s left to stare at the ripples of the water as it settles, heart beating loudly in his ears and breath caught in his lungs —Loki’s got nothing of Thor’s to use for the spell. 

It feels like the spark of newfound hope gets doused with water, leaving behind tendrils of smoke to plume and choke him. A wave of tears springs to his eyes, making him curse these hormonal swings of his mood that slowly drive him crazy.

The fat robin taps against the window, chirps a little trilling note that feels as if it’s coaxing Loki back from this overwhelming flood of emotion and the child kicks in his belly pulling him back into action as they have always seemed to love motion, getting fussy and kicking when Loki sat down for what they thought was too long. And the fog clears again, as sudden as it came. 

For Loki’s got something of Thor’s, he’s got something more important than anything else he could ever have, than any strand of goldspun hair could be.

Quickly, tremblingly, Loki summons a dagger in his hand, presses the edge into his other palm. The blood that drips into the water ripples against the surface, turns pink and spreads. The incantation falls from Loki’s lips like the kiss of a lover, sweet and familiar, full of hope and dreams. It makes the water blur and the bowl quake as it changes into the vision of the sky, soaring over landscapes he’s never seen before. 

The image settles when the spell has found its target and Loki’s knees buckle beneath him, unable to hold him on his feet any more, no matter how much he might try. So he crumbles in the chair behind him, buries his face in his hands and sobs in unbelievable relief.

Thor's sad, sad baby blues are still waiting for him when he chances a glance in the scrying bowl. His love looks worse for wear, like he has lost everything he’s ever cared for, like he hasn’t cared enough to look out for himself for a while, but… he’s there. 

The robin chirps happily and the baby moves inside Loki’s belly and he weeps and weeps and weeps in his folded arms. For his hope has soared back into a burning flame; for his Thor is still alive; for he still has got a chance at having a family. 

Crippled and broken as it may be, Loki will have his little family of three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all can see I lied... this story is going to have more than 2 chapters. I'm hoping for the next one to be the last but I might decide to break ch3 into two parts... who knows? certainly not me ^^' 
> 
> Thank you all sooo much for the amazing feedback! Even if I haven't replied yet please know that you have warmed my heart with every comment and kudos you've taken the time to leave this baby of mine ❤️🖤💕

**Author's Note:**

> posted for Thorki week Day 3: Ragnarok/IW fix-it.
> 
> The fix-it part will come, too ^^
> 
> Kudos and comments make me happy 😘❤️🖤💕
> 
> Find me on Twitter, [@TheAngryKimchi1](https://twitter.com/theangrykimchi1)!


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